"Yes—to-morrow!"
"Or Sarah Bernhardt in Sardou's new play?"
"To-morrow! To-morrow morning, early! What is anything compared with your getting well?"
"And your new summer costume that Doucet has not finished? How about that?"
Marcello laughed gaily and emptied his glass. But Regina rose and knelt down beside him, laying her hands on his.
"We must go to-morrow," she said. "You shall say where, for you know what countries are near Paris, and where there are hills, and trees, and waterfalls, and birds that sing, where the earth smells sweet when it rains, and it is quiet when the sun is high. We will go there, but you know where it is, and how far."
"I have no doubt Settimia knows," laughed Marcello. "She knows everything."
But Regina's face was grave, and she shook her head slowly.
"What is the use of laughing?" she asked. "You cannot deceive me, you know you cannot! I deceived myself and was blind, but my eyes are open now, and I can only see the truth. Do you love me, Marcello?"
His eyes looked tired a moment ago, even when he laughed, but the light came into them now. He breathed a little faster and bent forward to kiss her. She could feel the rising pulse in his thin hands. But she leaned back as she knelt, and pressed her lips together tightly.